I know which hand is the correct one to eat with, how to use a full set of formal silverware with correct etiquette, where to place my chopsticks once I’ve finished eating, and how to save a seat in a hawker centre using a pack of tissues. My time spent overseas gave me rigorous sensitivity training in table manners. His food tells stories of our culture and religion that could not be put into words. Through food, his tales of bitterly cold winters and fresh morels, of gunny sacks filled with saffron flowers on his doorstep, of tiny apples and giant walnuts, connect me to a time and place that I otherwise could not comprehend. My dad’s cooking tells stories of his childhood in Kashmir. My mum’s cooking hints at my grandmother’s Eurasian background through colourful Peranakan dishes. The origins of my family span a beautiful tapestry of ethnicities, languages and customs. I remember being so utterly confused when I was presented with Assorted Creams biscuitsĪpparently I am known as a ‘third culture kid’, a term given to people who’ve grown up away from their parents’ culture. Twenty-one years later, my memories are as clear as day. I remember the condensation running down the sides of mugs full of icy lime juice, in the sweltering heat of the banana leaf restaurant. I remember the tiny, crispy baby squid from the beachside seafood restaurants, and the fruit tiles on the walls of the Nyonya restaurant we used to go to with my grandparents. I remember the little bags of fried anchovies doused in curry sauce from my primary school canteen, the curry puffs from the ‘green shop’ around the corner from our home with a perfectly halved boiled egg in the centre. My world before Australia was a riot of colour, and all of my childhood memories are tied to food. I was born in Singapore, so my idea of lunch was something very different. Had I grown up in Australia, I probably would have approached bread-in-salad-in-bread with the same gusto as my fellow classmates. I’m not a picky eater, and my lunchtime protests had nothing to do with entitlement or a distaste for sandwiches.
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